


Guilty Pleasures

by SilverShortyyy



Series: Not Even Hell Can Vouch For Us [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Love, Making Love, No happy endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 17:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13640676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverShortyyy/pseuds/SilverShortyyy
Summary: There are no happy endings, they say, in such a demented world. But still I kiss your lips and pretend there are.Companion piece to Bellatrix Doesn’t Cry, but they both can act as standalones.





	Guilty Pleasures

His face was the perfect sculpture, the right angle of cheekbones and the right drop of a jawline, fallen curls as if gelled into place with just enough curl and just enough straight. His eyes were dark like night, and his hair was as demented and void of light as hers. His skin looked like ivory in the daylight, fragile save for the small spots of red she leaves beneath his clothes as a testament to his strength. But above her covers, beneath the canopy of her bed, his skin looked like they were kissed by the gods themselves, shining in the most subtle caress of moonlight and the shadows dipping and darkening in her favorite places.

“What kind of artwork do you want me to make tonight?” She asks him, her breath ghosting the shell of his ear.

“I was thinking,” he says, and she feels the way he scrapes and scratches at her skin and it feels so _good_ , so irresistible, so much so that she arches her back into his touch and, however possible, he made it even more _treacherous_. “I would be the one to make an artwork tonight.”

And if on regular nights, she reveled in making roses with teeth-mark thorns on his back, tonight he bit into snow-white globes and made small islands form on the then landless spheres.

He digs his nails deep into her, etching deep red scratches onto her skin the way ice skates cut into ice. He rakes his teeth on her stomach and she arches her back, breathes out in a shudder with her hands curling into the pristine sheets and her hips thrusting over to him.

He lets his lips trail over the angry marks he’s made and he licks the flames to rest, tracing all her dips and curves with his fingers. One of his palms finds itself pressing onto her chest and sliding up, through the valley of her breasts and between her collarbones. She shivers at the miniscule way his fingers brush the base of her breasts, teasing her without really touching her at all.

His hand finds purchase at her neck and his fingers curl around it, and while they both expect him to tighten his hold and try to choke her to death like he tended to always do, he simply pinched her in the softest way before sliding his palm up to her chin and pushing his thumb past her dark, plump lips.

Her lips already agape, she moans at the contact when her tongue touches the tip of his thumb, her back arching even more. How was it possible to arch off the bed this much? Her mind is fogged and she tries to keep her eyes open and clear to watch him on her body, kissing and licking her and biting her and scratching her and _claiming her_ , completely, fully, with no more holding back.

She is insane and mad and out of her mind. But, it seems, he can bring her to the peace of mind she had only ever dreamed of.

She wraps her tongue around his thumb and firmly locks her lips around it. She pulls it in, just enough to graze her teeth and she sucks, sucks so much that she feels her insides contract and she feels the sheets get wet from the way she sucks him and the way he moans into her skin.

He bites her hips when she begins suckling, and she bucks at him and bites his thumb. He proceeds to nip at her flesh, descending from the sharp of her bone and down across her thigh, down to the inside of her knee. He kisses, nips, licks, and she shivers the closer he gets, higher, higher, higher…

She sucks at his thumb and watches his member pump erect, fully and completely and hardening so much that she wonders how it hasn’t pierced his stomach already.

‘ _You’re so beautiful._ ’ She thinks, and wonders if she’ll ever say it.

He breathes on her slit, just a small puff of air, and she bucks so much that she nearly moves them off the bed at her sheer force. She feels him chuckle millimeters away from where she needs his mouth, and she’d yank his mop of hair into her already if _she didn’t love what he was doing to her_.

She takes a breath as he smirks at her, and the thought comes back.

‘ _He’s so beautiful._ ’

His thumb pops out from between her lips and he slides his palm over to the side of her breast. He presses his thumb drenched in her saliva over to her nipple, playing with it in circles as his smirk gets bigger. He pinches her, and neither of them have to look down to know that the gasp she let out at his ministrations came out another way between her legs.

His black eyes twinkle and his wayward hair sculpts his face perfectly.

She is a seductress and she would never just lay still. She would never beg either. But with him, she doesn’t need to push her breasts out nor need to blink her lashes in that way, nor need to keep the persona of a bitch who’ll sink her heels through a person’s skull. With him, she can be pleased without her doing anything.

His palm slides down lower and settles on her stomach, and the other palm slides up from her leg and settles across the other hand. He smiles at her, really smiles, and she loves the image of his sublunar smile between her breasts and her legs, his hair a mess more than usual and his bare body only for hers to see.

The heel of his palm slam into her and his nails scratch down her stomach, making angry red marks, angrier than anything he’s made so far tonight. He dives in, and she moans enough for her to feel it throughout her body when his lips touch her folds and when his tongue wraps around her clit.

Her fists unfurl from his silken sheets and fist into her hair. She pushes him, encourages him, and his teeth rake her clit and his tongue dips deep into her.

“Sirius!” She gasps, back arching off and slamming back onto the bed.

She feels him chuckling into her, and it makes her shudder and nearly come undone.

He pulls away and drops on top of her, his shadow covering her completely.

“Not quite yet, Bella. Not quite yet.”

And she feels him like a spear and she loves it, loves him, and especially the way he plunges straight into her, slamming into her deepest edges and sinking into her completely. They both moan and grunt and gasp at the contact, two animals starved for interaction through the daylight. She loves this, love him, and her hand drops to his back while her other palm pulls his head closer.

There are words and her eyes try to say them, because her mouth has inexperience in saying them instead.

She has never felt this either.

_Is this what it feels like to have your feet on the ground but have your head in the clouds?_

Except he feels real, feels true, feels like he would last their entire lifetimes.

And, she thinks, her head isn’t in the clouds at all.

But her feet aren’t on the ground either.

Then he kisses her, and she relishes the way his lips feel, molds her mouth and his together when she opens her mouth to meet his tongue. She grunts and loves every thrust of his, every slide and and slide out and she meets him every time, halfway, never too early or too late.

She holds him close, eyes closed but feeling everything else, tasting him, smelling him, hearing the way their bodies mashed and _loving it_ , loving it unlike anything else she has ever claimed to love in the entirety of her life, and she hooks her arms around him while he holds her in his arms.

Their rhythm speeds up, and she begins to gasp and grunt and moan, and so does he. She pulls apart from his kiss and her eyes are decided, and he agrees.

When they feel the high coming, their lips slam together, and on contact, the waves crash.

He kisses her when they’re done, and they both pant in satisfaction. She’s pleased, ever so pleased, more so than on regular nights. But a question comes back to mind and she asks him.

“Why did you want to be the one to do it tonight?”

She loves feeling his sculpted chest on hers. They were made for each other, red thread tying them together like the hostages of Fate.

She listens to him take a breath.

“I’m leaving at dawn.”

Her breath holds.

His heart beats.

His breathing is normal.

_She knows what he means._

She isn’t even trying to deny it.

He doesn’t move off her until they both see the smallest wink of dawn at her window. She knows he isn’t even going to take his stuff, because he already has stuff where he’s going. He has enough money if he needs it. He has friends and women and _men_. But she? She only has him, him, him—

“I’m never coming back, you know.” He says at the doorway.

“I know.” She whispers.

Then, he closes the door behind him.

She could still feel him on her, the perfect way they molded into one another.

And just like that, the red threat was cut, and there were no more artworks.

She turns her back from her window, closing the curtains shut with a yank of a finger. She hides from the sunlight and keeps from looking at the door, hoping that sleep would drown all his lies away.


End file.
